Whatever
by TetsuoTsubushi
Summary: [WA 3] I think I got this to just border PG-13. Jet is a man who talks very little, at least aloud. Suprising enough he thinks the most and his thoughts may be surprising. Of course...mild neurosis never hurt anyone. (Flame all you want, or compliment if


It all started with that damned kiss on the cheek six years ago. I think that's when things started getting annoying when I thought about…her. It doesn't matter. It was just a good-bye thing. We couldn't stick together any longer and we all just had to separate. And now…I've become a hypocrite. Saying that I don't need nobody and then showing up at Clive's house to read books to his daughter. Actually…that's about it. I never want to see that asshole named Gallows, nor do I want to see the chatterbox of a girl, Virginia. I do want to see them though…but I will never go to see them ever.

I get letters all the time. They always are addressed to 'Jet Enduro' in the town of Claiborne. And the person they always come from is 'Virginia Maxwell' of Boot Hill. We never have anymore addresses than that on the envelope. These are small towns so there's no need to go and say that I live in a wood shack away from the rest of town over behind the saloon (_Horse Theft_) there. And there's no need to say I'm building number five, or six, or whatever number I am. It's just simply 'Jet Enduro of Claiborne'. That's all it ever is, and that's all it ever needs to be.

I sort of remember that day. The one where we all said good-bye to one another. I remember because there was a party and Gallows got drunk and now he's a father. What surprises me is that his now wife wasn't drunk at the time. She actually wanted to be with him. I don't remember her name. Don't recall what she really looks like. And…if she actually can find Gallows attractive and worthy to have as a husband I don't even want to know her. How could anyone of the male or female race love that Baskar? He's so loud and obnoxious and I hate him! I just do…and yet if he wrote me in request for help or something I'd show up. Maybe it's that fact I hate. I'll never now.

And the thing about Virginia is that even though it's been six years I still remember what she looks like. With her dumb brunette hair and her rounded sort of face and those damn eyes of hers'…and then there was the fact that her white shirt always looked like it was going to pop a button. At least when she was bending over. Did she wear a bra? I don't know…but I hear if women don't their breasts will start to sag or something. Hers' did seem to just hang there a lot. No form of containment I think. I'm beginning to think it's terribly perverted to be thinking about this. Especially when the object of lust is a woman who is your friend and almost like a sister to you. A sister you'd want to have sex with…maybe when you're drunk. I don't like her, so I wouldn't really care. But I'm a guy…and there is never an end to what we'd do. Because I do want to be like Gallows sometimes now that I know I want women this way. It tends to hinder me though. It seems like every woman who walks through the door is the woman for me…and then her boyfriend shows up and I think he's just keeping her warm for me.

It's horrible to think that. Because a door opens so many times in one day…and if you're sitting in the place where women are always coming you'll find the 'ONE' for you every ten minutes.

And then there was that good-bye kiss to the cheek. I don't like handshakes. Nor the casual placing of a hand on a shoulder. No high-fives. Not pats on the back—not even out of wishing good luck or acknowledging a good job. I hate anything that even remotely resembles touching—even stares and glares! And yet, I never hated that peck. Sure it annoys me, but the hug that came along with it never bothered me. And that's what bothers me! My not hating that it annoys me. Maybe it's because I've only ever had very few hugs in my life. I've been to first base less than half of the number of times I've had a hug. And…I've had about two-to-three hugs…so just imagine how small the number of kisses I've shared is.

Regardless, that good-bye kiss was the only time in my life that I'd admit I was ever 'lost' somewhere. The funny thing being that I wasn't lost and I knew where I was. I was right outside Clive's house in Humphrey's Peak where we all went our separate ways. It was the first time ever in my life that I was ever lost…at least since the time I learned my history. I got lost that time was well. Adam Kadmon. The first being that was neither of the sexes and who later became Adam and Eve. It bugs me to think that the person I was named after was not male or female. It makes me happy that I am male…but that's probably all thanks to Jet Enduro who I was sort of modeled/ cloned after. So…I guess I should be thanking that kid.

Every time that I get this way it just seems like I'm being haunted. What does that mean? I don't know. I just am and I use that word even though I have no clue as to what it's meaning is. I think I'm just saying that a memory that keeps coming up of something you don't want to recall. That freeze-frame of my life being the moment that she kissed me like that on the cheek. It could never mean anything. I mean…Catherine gave me a kiss too on the cheek. So what's the big deal? Nothing. It's just like that time I got drunk and kissed Maya, or Bethany, or that girl I never bothered to know the name of in the first place, or…that other girl I never knew the name of…or…just forget this.

I can even recall the setting of the day we split up. And that's not even important to me at all! I bet the only reason I do recall that it was a bit cloudy and windy was because that's basically any other day on this damn wasteland that be my home planet.

This is not what annoys me! No, not some stupid hug and a kiss on the cheek from a buxom brunette girl that is also sort of a tomboy. That's right a tomboy! Why would I ever want a girl that's sort of like a guy? I mean…that's like wanting a guy with a different bone structure…and…who is missing body hair and a certain other bone that's not a bone at all. She is buxom though. It always looks like those two scoops of ice cream are just going to break free of their cage and kill me. Uh…that wouldn't be a bad way to die now that I think about it….damn, I'm perverted.

Right…this isn't about any good-bye. I never saw it as good-bye. I mean…we write letters to one another…well…no…she writes letters to me and I respond at least five times a year. I only ever send one to make sure she knows I'm living…and then there are the few others that I send in regards to something she actually says in one that I actually find interesting enough to warrant a further discussion. I never send her letters…I always reply to her own.

No…that's not what this is about either. This is all about Virginia and her twenty-fifth birthday. That's what this is about. This is about the birthday of a lonely young woman who says that she's not going to be having a party and no one remembers her or the fact it's her birthday. She didn't even tell me. It just took me this long to know when it is.

This is all about my need to make up for the past five transgressions I made against her. Those being: 1) Not doing anything in regards to her twentieth birthday. 2) Not doing anything AGAIN in regards to her Twenty-FIRST birthday. 3) Remembering her birthday but never getting around to do anything about it. Not even send a letter saying congratulations for her twenty-second birthday. 4) Giving her a pair of socks for her twenty-third birthday—'nough said. 5) Forgetting her birthday once again…but at least sending a belated congratulation…six months later.

I realize I'm not the most responsible guy on the planet. I know I'm a cold-hearted bastard with nothing in his heart but the lust for gold. I know I can't feel things at all and my catchphrase is 'Whatever'.

Still…is there a chance that all of those things are wrong? Could I be a very responsible person who until now has been a real screw-up? Am I really a cold-hearted bastard with only a greedy lust for gold? Can't I feel things? I swear I'm feeling things in the sense of an emotion right now. And…well…no…I think my catchphrase is 'Whatever.' That's all just coincidence though…I'm sure.

I never said I was a very good friend. I never had any friends so I haven't had very much practice at it. I don't even have a birthday—that I can recall—so I don't really get her having one either. I don't see how it could be important. I'd think getting older is a very lousy celebration. Why celebrate being older after the age of eighteen? I mean…from then on it's just a huge hassle of a life.

That's probably why Pike had put his life on the line and all to go to that ruin I first met him in for those dumb childhood knick-knacks of memory. Because youth is the best time of your life. Something I'm not sure I ever had. That's why I'm this way probably. I never went through the correct socialization processes that everyone else shares.

They say the most important agent of socialization is the family…that's the first problem for me because I ain't got one, do I? No, I don't. At least in the maternal or paternal sense. No biological parents here. The only two agents I ever had in my initial socialization (that I can recall) are the desert wastelands and Werner Maxwell. Later there would be my peers as well as those in society around me. Society not playing a big role in the process. Those damned peers—like Clive, Gallows, Virginia, and Maya's group as well as Pike and Florina—are the people responsible for my reentering the socialization process. Still…it's said that you never leave the system to begin with and you constantly learn and relearn throughout life.

Speaking of Florina…she has been a very good friend. Letting me crash at her Secret Garden making it like a second home to me. I'm a Drifter…I drift. But at least I have an established home in both Claiborne and one (sort of) with Florina. Those are the only two spots I actually own a bed in. Well…in Claiborne I actually own a home in the shape of a shack…but there's a bed in it and I…no…I think Pike owns it since he lent it to me…still…I call it my bed…so it's my bed and I own it…at least until the owner returns.

How was I supposed to know women don't want socks on their birthdays from someone who isn't a parental figure? No…why can't I ever let that go? Okay…I gave Virginia socks as the only gift I ever gave her. So what? I did GIVE her something. Doesn't that count? I mean…a Drifter goes through a lot of socks being that we always travel…and…it's advisable to always put on a new pair of socks so you don't get all sorts of problems. Like…gangrene…that's not cool at all to get. Those that do usually end up amputating their feet, or legs depending how far it goes. I think socks were a very practical and thoughtful gift.

Or…maybe I'm just not normal and though I gave something that is worth something and important I really should be getting her something in the form of entertainment or something that holds a fond memory for the two of us and means something. Still…

Women always want new clothes. Virginia once told me in a letter she was so happy that she bought a brand new dress that was beautiful and she went into a two-page discussion about it and even provided a diagram of it in vibrant colors and acute detail. So was it that I should have gotten her something like that—a luxury—rather than a pair of socks? She should feel great about the socks! I mean…there are some people that don't own a pair and I don't like those people because the soles of their feet are jet black and they're all hard and callus covered…makes me squirm just thinking about them.

It's not like she ever gave me a gift anyway…well, no, that's not true. She has. Case closed. No more room for argument. It was a better gift than socks and that's all I have to remember about it right now.

She's lonely. Virginia. I can tell that much from her letters. More so as of recent years than any previous ones. It seems like she used to send more…now she doesn't…and when she does they carry that sad baggage of a tone with it that makes me afraid to actually open and read in fear of finding a suicide note or something.

And…she used to see Clive and the others more often. She doesn't now. She never came to see me, but I made it my business to never be around town for more than two days out of a week. The most I've ever stayed in Claiborne is four days, and that was because I was ill. No…wait…I've stayed in town for two weeks or so once when I broke my leg falling off a palisade. Still…that kite should have never been caught up there.

That kite…I liked it. Virginia gave it to me as a gift because she said that someone like me who constantly blew a lot of hot air should be able to keep it up all the time. It was a good device to own anyway. I mean…it was a kite. You didn't have to do anything once it was in the air, and it gave me something better to do than that 'Shikamura' cloud watching I would normally do. Seeing pictures in the clouds, that were so obscene that it made me laugh out loud.

Still…Virginia tells me that this year she has no plans for the day that be her birthday. That's what she wrote to me in her last letter of a month ago. A month ago. Last year at this time I would have said a week ago. Before that five days. Before that two.

It's hard to believe she wouldn't have any plans. I would think she be the popular type of gal after all. She is a huge chatterbox nerd when it all comes down to it. Still…maybe I'm just stereotyping her too much and she really isn't and I just form stupid presumptions about her based on what I've seen. I think she has a quiet shy side to her probably as well. I have an 'inner-Jet' who acts like her…so maybe she has an 'inner-Virginia' that acts like me. Sometimes I think I have so little of everyone else in me…but everyone has so much of me in them. People seem to always be capable of copying my style, but I'm never capable of copying them. I know I can. I mean…everyone was made with those sort of capacities. It's just that some can wield those abilities better than others. That's why Gallows is such a great arcana-user. I mean…I may have the capacity for it, but he surpasses me by a hundredfold.

Maybe I'm just a bit crazy. I think I need a rubber room…but that might be nice. I'm not a manic depressive, paranoid, or schizophrenic so I don't need advice. I'm just crazy. Lights are on but nobody's home crazy. I may be a few bricks short of a load, but a full load always hurt my back. I may not be a full deck of cards. My stairway may not go to the top. My roof may be in the cellar and my walls may be up on top. But I'm just crazy, and what can you do? That's what you are in the end.

Maybe it's too much to say I'm crazy. But there is definitely some aspect of a neurosis going on within me. I'm just happy I don't have any Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I could never live with myself if every time I left a room I'd have to check and make sure I closed the window that was inside. A Drifter could never have OCD unless he was very strong-willed. Just think…stranded in the wasteland one night and worrying for the fiftieth time if you left your bed without the blankets tucked at home.

I don't lust for gold. I don't lust for treasure. I don't want gold. I don't want gella. I don't want anything. All I have is this ongoing search for treasure because without that I have nothing in my life. I can't settle down. I never could. I can't do that at all. Looking for the treasure and gems and what-not are the only thing I have going for me. I could never be a farmer—if there's even anything to farm. And…I could never be a miner…I may not be the biggest fan of the sunlight but still…I don't want to be in a job where I'd end up seeing the sun for about fifteen minutes in the morning when I go into the mines. The rest of the day those people don't really see much more of the sun. Maybe some reflected light but that's about it. The rest of it all light by torches. It always amazes me how miners aren't pale. They should be, but they're not.

I also could never run a tavern or an inn. I can't stand people. And…I can't run a shop because you need to be able to make items to do that and if not you need to buy products from people who can and that brings me back to the problem I have with people. Also…if I own a business that means customers and customers means people…and I hate people. There's the choice I have of being an ARMS-smith….I can't do that. I don't know enough about those things. You have to be good at something at least to a certain degree in order to make it your trade in life.

I wonder what Virginia's got going for her now? What does her uncle even do for a living? I do nothing. I would think whatever Virginia does is the same thing as him while she lives in his home. Either that or she stays at home with her aunt and does 'womanly' things. I suppose maybe her uncle is a farmer or something. Otherwise I have no clue what that plot of land in front of her house is. So…it's either farmer or the guy who runs the town morgue considering his proximity to the graveyard. The funny thing is that I never see any graves in any other town or place except Boot Hill. It makes me wonder what the other towns do with their dead. Do they just throw them in some hole they dig on random? Bury them in the walls of the structures they build? What? Am I going to end up just lying around as a set of bones? I don't want that! I am important. I should be buried at least in a grave or a mausoleum dedicated to me.

Okay…a whole tomb structure that's huge is a bit egotistical of me. At least I have the brains to acknowledge how insane my thinking is. It brings me back to believing I'm crazy again. I'm not…but I bet a straight-jacket would be warm on those cold nights and sort of nice and comfortable. But they'd make me get rid of my dual scarves out of fear I could hang myself with them…so…no scarves means no deal for me. The scarves are as much a trademark for me as the Aigert-Lahm B/V 2 I have. That and the gray head of hair on a young man. No other person on Filgaia has hair like mine if they be young. Only old people have the same color. Which makes me think sometimes that I'm an old guy. I may be. I'm crabby. I shake my fist from my porch—of my shack—and yell out to the young kids to stay away. I must be old. At least I haven't found the wonders of plums yet. Still…adult diapers are looking nice. Wouldn't mind not having to go to the outhouse all the time and rather just go where I sit or stand. Still…I think I would mind sitting in my own filth so maybe I should not wear adult diapers. Yeah…that was a crazy idea. And…I like my teeth. I'm not getting rid of those. And…looking at Clive I realize how dorky eyeglasses are so…I wouldn't want to wear them. And…forget this. I'm not going to grow old. No, not at all. At least now without any reason to grow old. Maybe if there was something in it for me, but old age doesn't look so good when you're a lonely old hermit man. And…I like to walk and wander the planet so what good would it be to suddenly not be able to? So…I think I'm just going to kill myself the day I start losing teeth and hair, start forgetting things, crap my pants, and have my appendages littered with arthritis. Mercy killing I would think. I agree with it. I'm NOT going to be old damn it!

I'm going to have to write this down. I may as well get started on a will. I think I'm going to bury all my gella and send out maps to anyone I know that are still alive and watch from the after-life as they all scramble for it. Maybe I'll just put a crummy note with some sappy message in the box at the end. Like…the real treasure was the journey to the box or something. As for my body I say just burn it on a funeral pyre like Balder did when he died after his own blind brother, Hoder shot him with a sprig of mistletoe under Loki's direction. Still…if I go out like Balder—destined to return—who will take the role as Nanna and jump into the pyre out of remorse for the loss of her husband and die along with my body? At least I come back after Ragnarok.

Okay…what am I thinking. I'm no god after all. I'm not coming back like that. I'm just going to be dead and that will be the end of the story regarding the legendary man with the gray hair known as Jet Enduro—whose real name is Adam Kadmon or whatever. I like the name Jet Enduro better anyway. I'm just going to stick to that.

And…I just realized I've spent an entire afternoon staring at this sealed envelope of a letter that Virginia has recently sent me. What a bitch. She made me waste an afternoon by getting my mind to wander like that.

"Hey Jet!" Damn Pike. Go 'way. Don't need you here. I've already lost my entire afternoon I don't need to lose the rest of my day here in Claiborne. It looks like I may stay in town for at least four days now. I should respond to this letter from Virginia. "Mail again? Who from?"

"Who cares?"

"I do."

"Well…you shouldn't."

"Just tell me who could actually care enough to send you a letter."

"Whatever."

"That's not a reasonable or logical answer y'know." Oh great…he's crossed his arms. Looks like I'm in for a long discussion/argument. I may not even get to eat dinner in my lonely manner as always. Wonder what I was going to kick anyway. "C'mon now! You can trust me. I thought we were good friends."

"Are we?"

He laughs at me. I was being serious damn it! "Of course we're friends, Jet. Why wouldn't we be? We've saved each other's life before." Me more than you bastard. Don't take all the credit. Wait…he didn't in the first place. What the Hell is wrong with me?

"Look...is it any bit important really? It's just a stupid piece of paper."

"A stupid piece of paper that was put in an envelope and addressed and mailed to YOU, of all people." What's that supposed to mean?

"I...what do you want me to say?"

"Who did the letter come from?"

"That's all?"

"Nothing more. I'm only asking for a name."

"Well...it's...it's from Virginia."

"Virginia? Oh...right I remember her." How can I ever remember you if you never let me forget? I can never forget Virginia. I can never forget my past. I never had memories because I hate memories. Still...I do hate them even now because they make you care about pointless shit like this that I really shouldn't think about more than a second, but I do. "What's the letter about?"

"I thought you said you only wanted to know who it's from? I don't have to tell you anything more." That's right bitch! I won't break our prearranged agreement. "Besides...I haven't read it yet." I didn't have to mention that. Pike always has a way of making me feel guilty like that.

"Oh...well...letters are meant to be read."

"H-Hey...Pike?"

"What's up?"

I...feel stupid asking this. I don't want to bring it up. I still have to though, Shit! Why is life always so retarded? "I...see...it's just that...Virginia'sbirthdayiscoming upandIneedagifttomakeupforeveryotherbirthdaybeforenow." See...if you rush your words as fast as possible life is easier. Made everything easier for me to say. I wonder if he heard what I said though. Actually...I said it all at once just so he wouldn't be able to make out what I said...but there's always the chance that he did...which will bring Hell for me.

"A...birthday gift?" Damn! He heard. "I can't say I can really help you there...not knowing Virginia as well as you do."

"That's the thing! I don't know her very well at all! So how can I hope for any better?"

"Are you sure? I'd think you'd know more about Virginia than anyone else on this planet...even...possibly her."

Is that really true? Could I really know her better than she knows herself? No...I'm sure she knows herself better than I do. "I don't know her very well either."

"Okay...stick by that then. It's not going to help you find her a gift any sooner."

8888888888888888888888888888888888888

Night was never good on me. Never. I don't think there's any time of the day that I can actually agree to that I like. I hate mornings because they wake you up. I hate afternoon because it's always so hot. Hate evening because the sun is fading. And night because no one else is alive when I am. Because you have to sleep at night. Because it's always this time of the day that you feel the loneliest. It's only ever night.

And it's insomnia that makes you feel lonely even worse. When I can't get to bed and I look around this small shack of mine and it all goes wrong again. It's sort of empty. Too empty. That sort of emptiness where it looks too empty. And big. A shack that's only fifteen feet by ten is large? It's not...but...in the night suddenly it looks so much larger. It looks like it's a mile to the front door...but it's only about ten feet from my bed in reality. The windows seem to close up and dark comes. I hate it. I hate that it bothers me. I hate how my throat closes up and I suddenly look to the right of me to the empty bed-space that while typically is only enough for another person looks like it's enough for five people.

Is this what it's all about? The fact that there is even room in my bed? If there isn't supposed to be room in MY bed than what does belong there?

Another person, idiot! That's who! But...there'll never be another person. Never. So what's the point of thinking it matters?

The room is small again. Looks just as it did earlier. A room that doesn't have enough room to store all of the things I own which isn't really anything to begin with. I have two shelves, and they only have dust, a few knick-knacks, some rocks I thought looked like something, some stored food and preservatives, dust, my ARM for the moment, dust, a line of books and other publications, and more dust. Those are all my worldly possessions aside from this building and this bed? A bed I don't own. I do own a chair for what's that worth. And a small table. I only need one chair. I only have one person to watch over and I don't take company in. I make myself company for others who I don't want to be company to because I hate people and I hate visiting people. Still...I do it anyways.

The town seems to be fine with me. Pike is a good guy. Some of the married women as well as single women give me leftover food sometimes—the single ones more often. The kids seem to just annoy me...but sometimes they look up to me and ask me to tell them something about my exploits or to teach them something. I think it was last week that I had to show them how to successfully sneak around and swipe something without being noticed. Too bad the object I was after—that they told me to get—was a woman's bra and...when I got there she was still in it. So...there was that painful smack and fall to the ground in the end. Painful as it was.

The moon's too bright now that I look at my floor. Too bright indeed. I can see the room after all. A full moon again.

Forget it. I can't sleep. Maybe I should have opened that letter from Virginia after all. I never did. I let the whole of a day pass and I still haven't opened that blasted thing. I'm so stupid aren't I?

"I made a mistake…I wish I could take back everything that I did…more like everything I didn't do." And it's true. I should have changed my attitude so long ago. I don't know why I stick to these stupid tactics that I stick to so much. How could I explain this to anyone who wasn't me when I can't even explain it to myself?

It's becoming a pale blue out. I'm never going to sleep am I? How can I spend three hours staring at a ceiling? I'm tired enough to do that and not think at all…but I'm not tired enough apparently to fall asleep.

It's not that I don't want to open the letter Virginia sent me. No, not that. I do want to. Mainly because I think once I do I'll be able to get some sleep as abrupt it may be. It's just that every time my hand goes to rip it open my hands don't work. They seem to work for everything else that I do. I used them to eat my dinner. I used them to get myself a glass of water earlier. I just can't use them to open a letter—and that's pathetic.

Okay…I think there's something I can do to get this over with. To get me to sleep and get that letter out of my head. I won't even tell myself what I'm going to do just so that I don't let it go to my head and I'm prevented again from going to bed.

888888888888888888888

"Jet…where you going?" Caught! Damn it! Damn it!

Just…turn around Enduro. It's too late now. "Oh…h-hey there Becky."

"You're not plannin' to leave without saying adios are 'ya?"

"Like I have to."

"Stop it wit' those damn scoffs of yours'." Scolded by some annoying girl. Sort of familiar. "Does Pike know you're leaving?"

"What…is he my babysitter now?"

"No, but he usually takes care of your home while 'ya gone."

"Well, he shouldn't. A home to someone like me shouldn't be no hassle to anyone."

"There you go again with your negative attitude. Ah' swear you're such a humbug if ah' ever did see one." A humbug? What the Hell is that? Is it like a hamburger? Why is it called a hamburger if it doesn't have ham in it? Not even from the same animal. I think I better just stick to topic and not go on tangents like that. "So…where you planning to go?"

"I plan on going wherever the wind-"

"Stop there." She asked didn't she? Why make me stop? "Jet, no romantic Drifter crap like 'I go where the wind takes me' and junk. Whenever you lie like that I know ys' have some destination. Why can't you just say it and stop acting stupid?"

I'm the stupid one she says. "Whatever."

She's ripping her hair out now. I can see it in her eyes. Seems like she's as annoyed with me as I am with her. Of course…now I'm not so annoyed being that she's making me feel better. "Just T-E-L-L me where you're going! It's a simple task, Enduro! Just say one or two little words. Seems super-easy to me."

"Of course it seems 'super-easy' to you. You're of a lower mind."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"If you were just a tad smarter you'd know what it meant."

"Jet!" She punches hard and good. No playing around. I actually lost my breath right there. "Now…will you just tell me?"

"Maybe…when I regain my balls." My masculinity was damaged by the punch to the gut, but an elbow to my back shattered it more. What the Hell is her problem? How does my leaving change in any way her life? It's only a trip anyway. My house is here after all. "I…maybe…I'm going to the Secret Garden to harvest some heal berries."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah."

"But you're nodding your head."

"So…what?"

"You never nod your head except when you lie." How can she know this? It's not like I talk to her very often. My guess is that she and Pike are a lot closer than I am to assume. Maybe they aren't just fellow townsfolk. Are these two casual bedfellows and no one knows about it? It's a small town. Every Filagaian town is small. Small towns mean words travelling fast. "So…what's up with you?"

"You and Pike did it!" Hopefully lying like that and changing the topic will get her off my back. She may get mad at me for making such a declaration of untruth.

"H-how did you know?"

"Y-you…mean you two…really did?"

"What…do you mean?"

"I…was just lying."

"Oh…I…ah'll see you when you get back." Well…I learned something new from this conversation as well as getting her off my back. Now…back to my journey. I got my ARM in my holster and my scarves on. The vest. I'm ready to go. Yes I am. Got me some food and some water. Now…I need me the guts to go there.

88888888888888888888

And so…I still haven't gone to the place I intended too. I'm such an idiot. I am. Because I'm the only Drifter in the world who can't hike to the destination they intend to go to…on purpose. I'm sure many Drifters get lost and never wind up where they plan to go. Or they go on a trek to a place that fails to exist. I'm the only one who can get the results of being lost without getting lost.

Whatever. I don't think I was ready for it all anyway. I would have needed another day to get there anyway. Maybe it was good that I wound up here in the Secret Garden instead of the place I really wanted to go.

In any case, I am at least greeted by a cheerful girl who is near the teen years I think. She might even be in them. I never bothered trying to learn her age. Still, she runs for me as I step into the place. She always has done that, and I wouldn't be surprised if she always will.

"Jet!" And she wraps her arms around me tighter than I would wish her to. An innocent girl like Florina will always be this most cheerful female I ever met. "Did you bring me anything?"

"What? No. Why should I?"

Her pouting never ceases to amaze me. I thought of her as the most mature little girl ever—as well as my not really liking her too much—and yet she can still do something so childish. She lives alone. I don't really know much of her history. Would it really matter if I did or not? "C'mon…you sure you didn't bring me anything?"

"I…have a book."

"A book that a small girl that is your friend requested?"

"Yes…a book someone asked for."

I never hear squeals of joy enough. Seems like as she got older the scarier she is to me. How can a small girl mean nothing to me, can seem normal and not much of a…well…girl? Then, meanwhile, now six years later she can be…a girl? Seem more energetic than anyone else? Is that what it's like to have a childhood? Do people really go through these changes? "Can I have it please?"

"Whatever." I hand it over. Although I'd never tell her, I actually enjoy watching her face light up when I gave her this book. All it is, is a book. A gift. And she loves it. And she loves me more for giving it to her. I never understood love. But…I understand what 'family' means. Maybe…I like the feeling that I can be an older brother to Florina. Though…I think she's got a crush on me. It's just an inkling I have…but it's still an inkling.

"Thank you, Jet, a lot."

"No problem. Nothing to make a big deal out of."

"Aw, why do you always act like that?"

"Act…like what?"

"Like you don't really care."

"What makes you think I do?"

"If you really didn't care you wouldn't have come here, nor would you have brought this book."

"W…Whatever."

"Are you staying?"

"I…guess."

"That's great! I've been saving a special dinner just for you! Now I can make it. Oh, and there's a good harvest of berries I set aside for you too." Is it a good thing or a bad thing that my head just started to spin and ache and my overall body became dizzy? I think we just moved from greeting to whatever we are at now way too fast. "You'll just love it."

"I'm…sure…I will." My stomach hurts.

88888888888888888888

"Do you like it?"

"Do I?"

"Yes, do you?"

"I…uh…I'm sure you'll make some guy happy one day."

"But…not you?"

"What?"

"You don't like it?"

"I do…just,"

"Just what?" That's what I'd like to know. This is so awkward all of the sudden. My eating the dinner she made. Roasted pordage. Weird poultry. It's good. I won't lie. I just don't know what I'm supposed to say to make her hear that and leave it at that.

"I…liked it. I was just saying…that with food this good…you're sure to make a man happy one day as your wife."

"A man?"

"Well…it…can…be a woman…if you want." Ugh. I don't want to mention this to her. It's not like I have any problem with two women or two men. I just don't want to be one of those two men. If they be two men without me it's fine. I don't want to talk about this sort of…sexual orientation with Florina, and definitely not with a person who I'm not sure even knows what sex is.

"I didn't…mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"Jet…I…I want you to be that man."

Deafening silence echoing throughout the home. Miles around us the monsters have even stopped moving. I knew it. I did. I just didn't want it to be true. "Florina…I…can't."

"I know."

"I'm…sorry."

"No, I know you love someone else."

"I don't love someone else. It's not that."

"Jet…please take this with you tomorrow."

"What is it?" Some stupid white flower? Why would I need this?

"It's a flower you idiot."

"I know that. What's it for?"

"I think you know. But just in case…I'm going to give you one more."

"Two flowers?"

"For two separate people. I'm sure you'll realize who they are for once you're in their presence."

"Thank…you." What do I do with two flowers aside from use them to raise my luck or to start a fire? "I'm still sorry."

"Jet…it's not like you to share emotions. Don't do it. It makes me hate you."

"But you have every right to hate me!"

"But I don't."

"Why?"

"Why don't I hate you?"

"Yeah."

"Because I love you too much to hate you."

"I…That makes no sense!"

"It does to me."

"I…I should go."

"No, don't. You don't have to."

"I do."

"Stop it!" I've never heard this girl scream. I've never seen her as anything more than shy, sad, caring, and happy. Now I see her mad. It's strange…because I just thought she never had it in her. That she could never become this way. And it seems like this is one huge lesson to me. That I'm suddenly learning that people are random like this. That emotions really mean so much. "Jet…just…because I have…a…well a crush, on you…doesn't mean that I love you like that. I'm still so young, I don't know what the heck love really is."

"So…what?"

"Nothing's different. Everything's still the same."

"How can it be? It will never be to me."

"We've been getting along well even while knowing this. Tell me that you didn't even think about it."

"I…I did think…maybe you did."

"So…why is this any different?"

"How can you still a child? You're older than me."

She laughs about it. Go ahead. It was a bit funny. Still, I was speaking seriously. For such a little girl that's at least considered ten years younger than me or so—I'm not sure how old I am though, but I always considered myself about as old as Virginia. That, and Florina's age is as much a mystery to me at this moment…so…I can't get a clear age difference, but I know I'm older. And though I'm older, she acts like the person of my age I'm meant to be considering my age. But no, I'm a stupid little kid who runs away from a parent's discipline. I'm the little child here. Not her at all. I'm the novice beginner with the childish logic and reasoning, and the child's mind. I'm the one with the youthful arrogance and attitude of a brooding teenager. Shit! Just…shit.

"Florina, you're right. Now…what's this white stuff next to the pordage?"

"That's…potatoes, Jet."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"They don't taste like any potato I've ever eaten."

"What do you think potato taste like?"

"I don't know…but…whenever I ate those green cauliflower-"

"Jet,"

"Yeah?"

"What you're talking about are broccoli."

"It…is?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"I guess…I really am a bigger idiot than Gallows."

888888888888888888888

"Good luck, Jet."

"Right…I hope so." A late start. Noon is a bad time for me to be travelling in the wasteland with the sun high in the sky. Wearing black as well. Still, I'm probably the only guy on this planet who can stand the sun like that. Most other guys would sweat and moan about not wanting to be out here in it—whether verbally or nonverbally.

"Jet!"

"Yeah?"

"Don't forget these." Right…the two flowers. I'm beginning to realize what they are for. I just have to go through with it. "Are you going to be late?"

"No, I don't have to be there until tomorrow. It's tomorrow that I DEFINITELY have to be there." Why did I leave early? Because I'm an idiot…plus…I probably knew subconsciously that I'd be lax in my journey and not actually go there right away. I knew it beforehand. I did. And I know it now too. I probably will end up taking my time and not get there until tomorrow, or just make it there on time, or even possibly be late. Being late would be stupid of me to do though. "Thanks again."

"Jet, do you have anything?"

"No, I don't. I'm just heading in there naked."

"That may help."

"Y-you think?"

"I'm kidding!" I would hope so. She's TOO young for that no matter how mature she may be. "Still…it would have helped to have something."

"It would, but there's nothing. I can't change that now. I have this plan. I do. I have to go through with it."

"Oh?"

"Whatever."

"There's the Jet I know. Now go out there and make me proud." How did she just become my mother? A mother I never had. "And again, good luck."

"If you say it three times I know it won't happen."

"Good luck."

"Didn't you…I mean…I…argh!"

"I don't believe in luck."

"When I'm done with everything I'm going to come back here. And if it all goes sour I'm going to bring wrath and pestilence along with me."

"Then I will be sure to have enough places set out at the table for you three."

88888888888888888888888

And…so I'm finally here. It's finally over. It took me longer than I expected. I got cold feet come Jolly Roger and I spent my day there bothering Emilia. At least now my ARM is upgraded to it's max. There's nothing more I can do to it.

I was going to drink, but I figured that would just ruin everything and I would save it for the eventual failure.

So…now the whole of the afternoon is over. The evening was when I had set out for my destination, and it's only now at around eight at night that I make it here. And…I find it oddly too quiet out. I'm aware that there was some sort of 'event' happening. There was something happening that drew the most of the town away. That's what I read a month ago. Right….a month ago in Virginia's letter.

That's why there was no one here on her birthday. Why Boot Hill was lacking most of the people. They had gone off for a reason I've well forgotten that was important to the life these people lead. I don't really care too much about them so I have no reason to know about it.

Ah, Hell no. I don't think so. I'm going to have to kill on this day before Virginia's birthday. And the two people I'm going to kill are ones she would feel horrible about my killing.

"Well, I got her a-"

"Jet?"

"That's what people seem to call me, Clive." I have to figure out a way to get these two losers off my back. To get the nerdy Clive and the oaf named Gallows the Hell away from Boot Hill. "What are you two doing here?"

"Uh…Virginia's birthday's tomorrow so we felt we should come and surprise her even though we said we wouldn't come." I hate you Gallows. I do. "It's my brilliance that thunk it up."

"Gallows…the word is thought…not thunk."

"I agree with Jet. In all my readings of dictionaries and books I do not believe that I ever came across the word 'thunk'. I believe you're trying to use the past form of think and failing."

"Why do you two have to notice the flaws and not the point?" I do it because I hate you. Or…I hate that you're my friend. Whatever.

"You two shouldn't come here. Virginia told me that she doesn't want anyone around today." A lie. A struggling lie. I need a better one to back it up from here.

"She did?"

"I…think it was…due to some…'womanly…issues'." I shudder in my mind just saying that. 'Womanly issues'? I don't know what they are…but Clive had said it once before when I was at his home in regards to Catherine.

"She told you this?"

"Uh…well…no. I got there…and she was acting…like…a…woman who…had…those…'issues'…and…well…she said go away and that she was sorry she could not handle this today. So…I just put two and two together. But she invited me back for next week. That's right…next week. So…we…should all show back up next week." This…is the biggest lie in my life. Let me just hope it's believable. My talking more than ten words at one time should point out my lie right away. But…maybe, just maybe, they will believe me. I mean…my explanation should warrant the long length of the whole thing. It shouldn't look odd at all for me to say it.

"I…guess if that's what she said." Thank you Clive!

"Well…let's go on back to your house than Clive and get some dinner. We missed out on it." There goes Gallows with his stomach. Thank you Gallows' bottomless gut.

"Will you come along as well Jet?"

"Uh…no Clive. I…sort of have one more thing to do here."

"Oh?"

"I…want to see Werner's grave. You…know how that is."

Clive just nods his head. Looks like…my lie was digested well. "Yes, we should leave you to that. We'll see you next week then."

"Uh…right…next week." Thank goodness this is over.

888888888888888888

The graves look so lonely in the moonlight. I figured I'd show up here for two reasons. One was that I wasn't sure whether or not Clive and Gallows would leave it at that, and the other reason being…because this is something important.

This is Ekaterina. From everything I've learned through my journey with Virginia she was very important to her. It was her mother. And her mother…she loved these white flowers…that would always appear on her grave without Virginia ever knowing or seeing who put them there. The one white flower Florina gave me…belongs to the late Mrs. Maxwell. I figured that one out easily.

It isn't from Florina. The flower was not from Florina to Ekaterina. It was from me to the woman. Because I didn't have to put it there. Florina never told me to. I chose this on my own. I don't know why…I feel so serious about this. It's just me placing a flower on a grave. It should be as simple as that.

I'm going to become old one day. I will. There's no changing that. Or…I may never age. I haven't changed much body wise throughout my known life. Will I always look the same? I don't know. I'm afraid I won't age. That I am immortal or something. I am a clone. An android. There has been none other like me…and that means that there is no telling how my fate will be. If I never grow old…everyone else will. And without anyone else…I don't see much reason to keep living as I am. Why should I have to make new 'friends' every century? How would Virginia feel when she were old and I be young still? Gallows? They wouldn't like me. It wouldn't be that they hate me. They would hate themselves. They would hate it because they would feel old themselves and think that they are the one responsible for growing old. Like they could actually control something they can't.

And…I would hate myself for making them feel that way.

If that's the case…I will have to have a talk with the guardian of time or whatever. I will have to have him make me older. Because otherwise I couldn't live.

Virginia…I came to see you. Because I couldn't read your letter. If I saw you in person I could. That's why I had to come here. And I came for your bloody birthday at that. And…I…I came without a damn gift. I don't have anything to give her. That's why Florina gave me the second flower. Because nothing seems better when you also have flower in hand.

"What do you think, Ekaterina?" I wonder what she would say now. I'm a man destined to kill himself in his own workings. Everything I do, I do against myself. I'm the creator of my own demise. What could she possibly say to me?

And what would Werner say? What did he see in me? Hadn't I become useless now? I mean…what good am I since the project is over? No one is left alive from the Council of Seven.

Isn't it funny…how Clive, Gallows, Virginia and I all became…like the Council of Four? I mean…we did things a bit differently. But we were pretty much after the same thing and we all were a mix bag, much like the other Councils. So how are we any different? Is it…that we haven't been part of the planet's own demise? All of the other Councils only brought worse events about. We didn't. I guess that's a difference. That…and in the end Beatrice was not the one who controlled us. She controlled so many others. Never us though. We kicked her ass.

Death. Yes. That five-letter word that people are afraid of that I'm not. No, I am afraid of death. Just not for the same reasons as everyone else. Most people are afraid of it because it is THE end. Not just any end, but _THE _end. I'm afraid of it…because…it's everyone else that dies.

Why…do I only realize it now? The thing I'm afraid of…is being alone. Being alone is what I always want to be, and it's everything that is my enemy. It's like…if I was in love with…Melody. Yeah, that's what it's like. It's like I love my worst enemy and I want them, but I would love to push them away. Okay…these…are some bad thoughts I'm having about Melody now. Though, I bet she would like that I am thinking of her sexually. That was why she agreed with the demon stuff and all. She wanted to be beautiful. I've seen her picture when she was a human and not a hybrid, and…she looked hot then. I don't see what she was thinking. I just don't understand why someone would do that to look better when they already looked fine to begin with.

Why am I thinking about Melody? I was thinking about death and loneliness and…well I guess it's only logical it led me to that. I mean…she's a dead woman…and when a man gets lonely…he begins to think about women. Still…I don't want to think about that woman.

I see it all though. What I want. I don't want to die alone. I don't want everyone around me to die and leave me to loneliness. Even Ekaterina was not alone. She had Virginia and Virginia's aunt and uncle. Werner was already dead.

That still makes no sense to me. That Werner was dead before I ever even met him. So…all that time he was teaching me how to survive out in the wastelands he was dead. Just…really weird.

A light? A light going on from inside the Maxwell home. The outdoor light though. Shit. Virginia. I can't see her like this! It's just not how I meant it to be. I was going to come up to her door and all. I still can do that. Just have to hide myself behind the gravestones in the back.

She…looks about the same as she throws the match she used to light the lantern with. Nothing truly different. Her breasts looked bigger in my memory. Well…they still could be…I am a good distance from them.

No, it's not her boobs that I'm interested in. It's her face. The quiet sort of face. Not outstandingly ugly—no, never—and not outstandingly beautiful. Her hair longer than I remember it. It used to only go to somewhere in the middle of her back, but now it was to her butt. She doesn't look the same. Well…neither did Gallows, but Gallows got hitched so that only made sense. And Clive sort of has…gray hair forming in his green locks. Virginia's dress wasn't the same. It was more of…well…a dress. I mean…what she used to wear…was really just a skirt with boots, a button-up shirt (with that dumb ribbon) and the jacket and gloves. It…was a dress. Now she had a dress. Where it could pretty much be all one outfit and not a collection of articles of clothing that make a dress. This dress…was sort of like…I don't know…Maya's, but toned down. It was still purple though.

Virginia…I…who's that? That guy who just walked out after her. Who is that? They talk about something, but I can't hear anything they say. I wish I could. Stupid pretty-boy of a man. Still, when he left they didn't hug or kiss or anything. Just waved. Still…he was inside her home. That's…like…EVERYTHING!

It means that Virginia is missing the whole part of her name that isn't '-ia'.

Maybe I'm reading too much into this. Just because some guy I've never seen or heard about was in her house it doesn't mean anything. It's her birthday. Not everyone in this town is gone. I mean…Armengard is here. Wonder what day it is today? And there are few others still around. Maybe this guy is just one of them and was kind enough to stop by. Maybe he's a handyman? Damn handymen…they're always handy with the women while their fathers and husbands are out. I hate them!

Even though I had that…short…stint as a handyman. Oh yes…that was…oh…that's why I hate this guy. Whether he be a handyman or not.

It's too cold to be leaning behind a gravestone tonight. My butt's all wet from this grass and fungi growing in the stone's shadow. It's a bit chilly. Not the best night to be behind a gravestone. But what night is? I'd look weird hiding back her at any time. Day or night. Only being drunk would save my face when I was found here.

Shit! Did she find me? I hear her walking towards me. I've never been so afraid in my life. Never so scared that I'd want to piss me pants. This is horrible. What do I say if she does see me here? I have nothing! I'm no suave guy! I'm not a great liar. For Pete's sake I apparently nod when I lie, and people can tell from that! Shit! Did Clive and Gallows know that? No, I didn't nod when I lied earlier because I made my neck muscles taunt. Still, Virginia is right behind me. Right in front of the gravestone I have my back to.

Or…maybe not. She's at the grave in front of this one. I can see her off of the reflection of the puddle. Hopefully she couldn't see me in the same thing from her angle.

And…she's crying? Why is she crying? Well…this is the cemetery where her mom is buried and her father memorialized. Still…I don't think that's it. She had come to terms, I'm sure, with the death of her parents. She's not crying because of that.

In her hand. There's something in her hand. Something…I had. It's my fault she's crying. Because it is that single white flower she has in her hands. The one I left for Ekaterina. The only other person to do that…was Werner. No one else left white flowers behind like that on her grave. Only me and Werner I believe. What have I done? I shouldn't have put those flowers there. Because it made Virginia cry. I didn't mean for that. I don't know why she would cry. I don't know if it's because her mom's dead, or because I put those flowers there. Because her father did that. Her hidden hope her father was still alive though he be dead must be wavering right now. And it's all my fault.

Jet Enduro. You horrible man.

There's nothing more I'd like to do…than to tell her right now it was me. It's just that…my legs won't move. My teeth are biting my lips. My throat is closed. I've swallowed my tongue. My mind…can only think about the features I have that don't work. Shit! Just…shit! I say shit too much. I don't even know why I say it. Maybe because I feel like I just did it myself in my pants. Maybe because it feels like I stepped in some. Maybe because mentally I feel I'm in two feet of it and I'm casually wading through it. I can't move. Can't breath. If I breath I will smell the shit and I don't want to do that. I can just hold my breath.

And…she walks away. And the tide removes itself. And…I'm alive again. I'm just fine again. I can breath? I was worried I turned blue or purple and died.

I'm such an idiot. I can relax now, sure, but…I still haven't seen Virginia. I can't see her. No, and I'm not sure why either. Is it because I didn't write and say I was coming? That I didn't read her letter? That I don't have a real gift to give her? Or…is it because of the dumb guy? That stupid guy! There's no reason for that to be the problem. I know it's not the problem. It's not the problem.

It could be the problem.

Well…no…what about maybe the whole…leaving the flower on the grave? That may be the problem as well. Or maybe…now that…I see that I don't want to die alone…I just can't actually go and not be alone.

And…I want to be alone. And even if I didn't want to be alone I still will be seeing that I'm a huge jerk whose catchphrase is 'Whatever'. No one wants to be around someone like that.

Yet, then what is Florina and Pike…and whoever all about? If it were true no one wants to know me…then why would Becky say that Pike takes care of my home while I'm gone? Why would…Florina have a crush on me? I'm worth more than I would like to think. I do have that bounty on my head. Well…not me so much the whole group, but that sort of has died down a bit in recent years.

Okay…there's still technically at least three hours left of this day. It's only about nine at night. I still can get her something before her birthday tomorrow. But first I have to get the Hell out of this cemetery.

But…now what? Where do I go from here? I can still get her something if I get my horse and go back to Jolly Roger where they may have something being that it's a popular place. It does have a port.

But that solves nothing. I don't know anything she would want. I'm not a woman. I don't know what women want. Womanly things? I…don't feel right buying…panties or…bras for her. No corsets. I'm…not going to do that. It'd be even worse…than my getting her socks that one time. Mainly because if I even got the courage to do it I'd throw up five times out of nervousness and I would hate to see her face when she opened a gift like that. She'd probably smack me tenfold. The sort that would leave me bruised for five years and have her not speak to me for ten. And that will help me no bit. Because the whole point of me giving this gift is making people stay with me and not driving them away. Though…I'm not sure. Maybe…Virginia would like me to give her something like that.

No! She's Virginia…and…friends don't give stuff like that. I only thought about it because I thought it'd be cheaper than any other type of clothing…but it's only that I see the lingering problem with it. It was stupid of me to think of it. So…what can I buy her?

Maybe…did…her letter say? It's entirely possible. I mean…she may have been thoughtful enough to put that there. Though…I don't see why she would think I would have gotten her something if I think I think I know what she thinks of me. But isn't that the great thing about my plan? That it's something she wouldn't expect of me? It will be the best jumpstart to this sort of…new…life that I think I'm trying to get to. At least…I think I'm trying for something like that. I may not be. Whatever. I'm trying for something.

Now…I know she didn't write in the letter what she wanted. No, I know she didn't do that. And…I can't just knock on her door and ask. No, I can't do that. I'm not going to talk to that guy who was here. I hate him. How…I…loathe…that…man. Now, I don't want to talk to Armengard either. She'd just tell me something stupid about today probably. She'd go and say…oh, today is…wait…what is today? Forget it. I may not know the date but I know it's the night just before Virginia's birthday. That's enough for me to know.

Now…who am I? I'm Jet Enduro. Adam Kadmon. Whatever. It's all the same to me. Anyway, when you think Jet Enduro what comes to mind? Accomplice of the woman who killed Lamium? No, Virginia didn't kill him nor anyone who I associate with. Now…antisocial asshole? No, not that either. At least…no, I think only Gallows is the only one who ever said words like that. Now, when I, myself, yes, I think of Jet Enduro, I think egotistical…no…did I really just say that? No, when I think, when I think, when I think Jet Enduro I think world-renowned treasure hunter. The best! Okay…maybe that was a bit egotistical of me. Still…I am the best. My covert moves are great. I mean…the last time I used them I was climbing under a moving train…I think. Well…that's the last time I used them alone. But I mean…not just anybody can do that…right? No Jet, you're the only one. You're the man. Whatever, get going you braggart.

Right…so…the tree over there behind the other trees lining the graveyard looks decent. First…to creep out of this dumb cemetery. Then…to make sure where Virginia is. Washing dishes. One dish and matching silverware. So…that guy wasn't eating with her? That's good. She shouldn't welcome men into her home these days…aside…from me when I get here. But I trust myself alone with her and I think she trusts me alone with her. Anyway…I shouldn't be staring at her washing one dish. Why…is she taking so long on one dish? Women's minds are so fickle. Complex too. I hate it.

Okay…tree. Right. I better take a good breath. Haven't climbed a tree in a loooong time…if ever. Now…to the top I think. Her balcony is too far from me, but I think I can reach the roof and move on across and drop on the balcony. There's no such thing as a lock for a balcony I'm sure. It'll be an easy entrance. An easy ou-trance. Outrance should be a word. I'm going to have to add it into Clive's dictionary next time I'm at his place and watch him use it after I bring it up. That'd be great!

"Whoa." Remember Jet. You're in a tree. Branches bend, especially thinner ones. Now, a jump…to this roof. Made it. Perfect landing. Quiet and soft while still getting me on without breaking a bone or straining a muscle.

A little shimmy to the spot above her balcony, and the drop. Another perfect landing. Soft and quiet and deserving to be labeled with my trademarked name. Damn…I really am a bit egotistical aren't I?

She has a bed. Most people do though. How is hers' any different? It's not. So there's no birthday gifts that come to mind there. Okay…books. What sort of books does she own? Nothing interesting. Stupid girly book here. Love story. Some diary. Tempting to read, but I won't. That's invasion of privacy. Well…I think it was a big enough invasion busting in here…well, I didn't _bust_ in. Regardless…I don't want to read that. It's probably stuffed full of things I don't want to know. Just put it back on the shelf and let it collect dust again—which it doesn't. Then there's always this dumb adventure book she must have scored off of Kaitlyn. That girl got bored with that story…and I did too. Wonder if she told Virginia that?

Wow….her bed bounces. It' soft too. A whole lot better than my hand-me-down bed. And…her linens are so much better too. Cleaner. Softer. Smells nicer. Like it's my fault I don't clean myself up enough. I'm usually on the road. I may take a bath every week, if ever. That's the life I decided upon when I chose this path. Still…I like this bed.

What am I doing? I'm not here to look for gifts that I would want! I'm here to find the gift that won't be a disappointment like those socks. Now…what else is there to her room? A dress. That's something. A dress on one of those…mannequin things. It's…actually…very beautiful…but…it's not her size. No…it's not. It must be her mothers' or maybe her aunts. Still…she probably would love to have it fit.

This is perfect. I know what it looks like down to the very last detail. It's all in my mind. Now…if I can get the tailor back in Jolly Roger up I'll be set. First…to find out her waist size. I…think…swiping a bra will establish bust size. I don't want to actually…take measurements or guess. Maybe I should. I don't feel good being a panty thief. Right, leave this bra. I'm just going to say something around a b-cup and hope it fits. She can always get it re-fit if it doesn't.

Now…waist size. I know her weight. At least her old one, and she doesn't look heavier now, so I'll keep it with the old one. Her height I know. So…it's waist size. Once I have all of those I can go to the tailor and they can make a perfect replica of this dress in all new glory. Right…and if they can do it by the morning I'll be set. The gella is fine. I got that. I know the tailor will charge more for the fact I'm wanted—but his good friend after helping to get him started—and the late hours. Still…getting there? I took the sandcraft to get here. We had stashed it away in Jolly Roger with Emilia. She was more than happy to help us. We did get our revenge on the beast that killed her love (Mario) and we brought back his suitcase with that thing in it. She never smiled before that…if I'm to believe that. I don't care about that. It doesn't relate to me. Whatever. It's hard as Hell to pilot a sandcraft by your lonesome! I can only guess Clive and Gallows have the Teleport Orb thing, or maybe they have Lombardia helping them out. Whatever.

Back to waist size. How do I find that out? It's not like I carry some sort of measuring device on my person. I don't see anything. I'd use my boot…but that'd be stupid. I'm…about…a thirty-two inch waist I'd guess. Now…no matter how you classify a woman's waist, in inches it's still the same. So…if…I put…one of her…skirts on…and it fits me…then…I have the right size. If it doesn't fit and is too loose…then I can use my fingers as measurement and tell the tailor the correct adjustments to be made. If it's bigger than me…I don't think she's bigger than me so I'll put that thought back in my head.

Anyway, a skirt. Where can I find one of those? Her drawer? Perfect….just perfect. I become a pervert no matter what I do. Taking the skirt from her drawer makes me a pervert. Just great. Gallows says I'm an antisocial punk. I say I'm a treasure hunter. Now I must also admit to being a pervert. No! I'm not a pervert. I'm doing this for a reasonable purpose and not out of some greedy lust that's disgusting.

Okay…screw this. Just…dropping my drawers and leaving my underwear on. The socks still on. The boots to the side with the pants and the holster.

No! I can't do this! No, I can't. It's…too weird. Stupid of me. I can't do this. I can't. No, I can't. Not even for Virginia. Not for all the gella in the world. Not for all the treasure. Not for all the happiness I could get. I can't seriously put on Virginia's skirt to find out the size.

But I want to.

Okay, that sounds weird to me. Really strange. It's not perverse. I want to put it on to find her size. So I can get a gift, and I can…look good to her after six years and all. I want to look better than that guy who was here. I know I've seen him before. Now that I think about it all I think that was that Neil guy. Never really liked him. Never will.

Okay. Just…put this dumb long skirt on and all will be fine in the end.

Except I forgot about this possibility. "J-Jet?"

What do you say to a girl when you're wearing her skirt while in her room unannounced? I can get by with being in her room. Lies and denials and what-not. I can't get by with the wearing of her skirt. She hasn't said anything…and that worries me too. I just don't have anything. If I dared, I would shrug now.

A deep breath. Here goes. "Does this skirt make my butt look fat?"

Jet Enduro. Cool under fire. That's me. Right, it is. And…I say something like that? Too cool under this fire. A joke? Jet joke upside-down world.

"Y…you…show up here…like this…and…you say something like that?" Was there something wrong with that?

"I…could have shot you, but I left my gun…there."

My pants and boots. My ARM. And…the one last white flower. Shit. The flower. "You…put…that flower on my mother's grave?"

"I…can explain."

"What is there to explain?"

"Whatever."

"I'm sorry…can…you get out of my skirt?"

"I…what? Yeah, yeah." This…is embarrassing. Yes, it is. "Can you…not watch me?"

"Jet…you're in my skirt…can it get any more embarrassing?"

"No…I suppose…not." Whatever. Just…throw this cloth aside and grab my pants as fast as I can. If I can grab my boots I can make a break for it. No, I don't need my boots on second thought. Just my ARM. After that I can simply run.

"Are you going to run now, Jet?" How does she do that? Know what I was thinking?

"Should I?"

"You're asking me?"

"I can't find an answer in myself."

"Why…are you here? To dress up like you did…and break in…and…leave a flower at my mother's grave?"

"No!"

"Than what?"

"I…It's…Your birthday is nearly two hours away."

"This…is my gift?"

"Okay, okay. This wasn't it."

"Why did you leave the flower?"

Why did I leave the flower? I don't know how to explain it. "Because…your mother loved them."

"Really?"

"She did. There's one for you as well…there."

"I can see that." Did an inquisition suddenly begin? "Why are you in my room?"

"To try and find the gift I should get you." No, an inquisition is a bit different. This is an interrogation. Not an inquisition. "I wore the skirt because I wanted to go to Jolly Roger and get a dress made like that one over there that would fit you."

I answered that question before she got to it. "Then…you never led my letter?"

"You mean what you wanted was in there the whole time?" Or…no…is it…shit. A dress that was her mother's. A wedding dress. Neil. A letter in the mail. She's…getting married? "I…should go."

"That's not what's in the letter. Won't you read it?"

"I…don't want to. I won't. I don't care enough to read it."

"But you cared enough to come all the way here without reading it and then to sneak into my room and wear my skirt in order to make me a dress like that which would fit?"

"Whatever."

"That won't work this time Jet!"

"I don't care! I never did! I'm a cold-hearted bastard!" Shit! Shit! I love you, Virginia! Is that what I should say? It's what…I suddenly believe enough in. Because I don't want to die alone. And…I can't stomach being with anyone when I'm old and without teeth except Virginia.

"You cared enough to leave my mother a flower."

"I…How could I care about a woman I never met?"

"Read the letter Jet."

"No."

"Give it back then."

"No, it belongs to me now that you've sent it."

"Will you read it?"

"No, why should I?" It's stupid now to see her. I can see now that it was pointless to come here. Idiotic of me. I'm a moron to the highest level. I love Virginia. It takes me all of this time to want to love her, and when I get here…she's gone already. She's gone, and I just have what I have. I should have never had come here. At least then I would still be content with my life. Now I will always be haunted by the three words I never said. With this stupid emotion I won't forgive or forget. Maybe I wish that I had no emotions. They should have made me without them. Maybe they did and I evolved over time to have them. Whenever Pike speaks of memories…he seems so enthusiastic about it. Like his loving memories keeps him alive. The same with Florina. They each talk about memories in their own way. Almost everyone on this planet did at some time. Even…me.

And…I shouldn't stay. I will run. Run right-Shit! "Jet…there's a thing called a doorknob." Which way is up? The door took all of my motor skills away from me. "You really chose running away? That…hurts."

"It's…not you I'm running from."

"Who are you running from then?"

All of the silence in the world I would give for one damn answer to that. One simple word. I just need one. Maybe I should be looking to something closer, and not so broad. It's not demons. Not the whole Filgaia Sample thing. Not the Beatrice thing. Not Elliot Enduro. Leehalt. Melody Valentine. A pox on you! A pox in a box without any lox and she does it with a fox with cocks in the paradox of a doxy of mine that doesn't exist. There is no proxy to a woman that makes me want to kill myself now.

And all there is when I think about it all, is one answer. One culprit who is responsible for everything in me. "Myself."

"You're running…from yourself?"

"My memories. Memories of you. Of Clairborne. Of all of the shit we went through. All of it. Even…the nose you scrunch up sort of…cute…like when you laugh. All of it."

"You…never did…like memories much."

"I hate them…" It's her eyes I look back to. When I stand up again. I look into her eyes. Fall seven times; stand up eight. "…but I just can't live without them. I hate to love them. Just like…"

"Just like?"

"Just…just like."

"That's it?" '…just like how I hate to love you.' That's what I wanted to say. I can't though. Shit! Just…crap! Total horse manure. "You say you wanted to give me a birthday gift. I wrote it in that letter…truth be told…you gave me what I wanted. You can go if you want, but…it's your choice."

My choice? "What…does it say?"

"Again, I must say…open it for yourself."

"I can't open it. I can open up every chest in the world. I can open thousands of doors with my boomerang and what-not. I can shoot an Annaberge from like…2 miles away. And…I can't open a letter."

"Then…I will open it for you."

"Whatever." Whatever? I'm scared as all Hell and I say that? This is my death. I know it. Whatever she read when she finally gets her hand out of my pocket and opens the parcel. Shit. She has it now. It's out of my control. Well…no…it's not. I can swipe it if I'm fast enough. I'm sick of everyone telling me what to do all the time! I hate my life! I hate everything! I wish I was **DEAD**! Well…no, I don't. Not really. I wish everyone **ELSE** was dead. This is one of those things you think would happen to someone else. It just so happens that EVERYONE on Filgaia is someone else's someone else.

She stands so close to me. I can feel her breathing. I can almost touch the beat of her heart with my own. She doesn't see what I see. She's standing in front of a hopeless man having trouble with opening a letter she herself addressed and sent by rail. It's moments like this…that whole…hailstorm before the kamikaze…that makes life horrible. That sort…moment where you're in a dungeon and the wall begins moving toward you, and you're being forced into a pit of spikes. It's this moment in life that causes ulcers in people. I have an ulcer. What good is it to me?

And she lifts the letter to my face. Off to the side. There's only one word on it. One single word in bold letters she must have etched into the paper with such force that it was just at the point before it rips from the amount of pen strokes on the same place. It's just one word…and I hate it. One single word with a length of four characters. Ends with an '**E**'. Second letter is an '**O**'. All it said…was '**COME**'. That's all it said.

"You gave me the gift I wanted…without ever having to think."

"Virginia…I…Neil." What about that guy? That's what I want to know. Do I hate him or is he just okay with me? It all depends on her answer/

"Jet…I've waited six years for you to come back and see me. I'd wait another six."

"You would?"

"Maybe even more." How can she be so happy? It's crazy. I can't see how she can be happy like that. "Would you care for some dinner?"

"It's…practically ten in the evening."

"I don't care. It wouldn't bother me."

"I…what I can do…what I have for you as a gift…is only me…and if that's the case…all I can do is make sure…you have a great birthday."

"I'm sure you'll have a great day too."

"I'd love dinner."

"Good…because I was going to give it to you anyway."

88888888888888888888888

"Oh…hey…welcome back…uh…Jet."

"Hey there Pike." Another beautiful day in Claiborne. Just great.

"Where…'ya been the last three days?"

"A Drifter drifts. It's his life. And it's the memories that bring him home."

"Uh…did you happen to go into any mines?"

"No, why you ask?"

"Because I swear you were exposed to some strange gases."

"Hey…did…Becky stay here in Claiborne instead of leaving…because…of you?"

"What would you say if I said yes?"

"I wouldn't say anything. Just…I have something to tell you."

"That is?"

"Thanks for anything, everything, and whatever."

"Anything, everything, and whatever?"

"Yes, anything, everything, and whatever."

"What's that mean?"

"Thanks for anything you've done for me, everything you are doing for me, and whatever you will do for me. I figure I may as well tell you now so I never have to again."

"Wow…someone's drunk or on drugs. Jet…let me help you home."

"I am home." His escorting of me to my home seems to hit a rock at the start. Sunk at the dock.

"Yeah…I suppose we all are."


End file.
